The Barrytown Trilogy (47 page)

Jimmy Sr knew Bimbo; if he was offered one of those jobs he’d take it. —It’s a start, he’d say; and he wouldn’t give a shite who saw him in his polyester uniform. He’d even wear the fuckin’ thing to work and home, not a bother on him. And Veronica would ask him why he couldn’t get a job like Bimbo – but that wasn’t the reason he wanted Bimbo to cop on to himself. Veronica knew that if Jimmy Sr ever got offered proper work he’d jump at it, even if it was less than the dole. He couldn’t let a friend of his – his best friend – allow himself to sink that low. A man like Bimbo would never recover from having to stand at a counter, wearing a uniform that didn’t fit him and serving drunk cunts and snot-nosed kids burgers and chips. They weren’t even proper chips.

They were at Bimbo’s gate.

—You’re not goin’ to write tha’ letter to McDonalds, said Jimmy Sr. —Are yeh?

—Ah —

—You’d just be wastin’ the fuckin’ stamp, for fuck sake.

—No, said Bimbo. —I don’t think I’ll bother.

—Good man, said Jimmy Sr. —See yeh later.

—See yeh, said Bimbo.

Jimmy Sr went on, to his own house. He wondered would the front room be free this afternoon. Darren was doing a lot of studying for the Leaving, and Jimmy Sr wasn’t going to get in his way. Liverpool were playing Chelsea on RTE. Maybe Darren would be going out, meeting his mot.

He’d forgotten his key. He knocked on the glass. Bimbo probably would write off to McDonalds even though he’d said he wouldn’t. He knocked again. He wouldn’t rest until he got himself one of those fuckin’ uniforms. He hid his eyes from the sun with his hand and looked in the window of the front room. There was no one in there. He knocked again. He should have got a knocker, one of those brass ones on the door. Bertie had one on his, and one of those spy-hole things. There was no one in.

—Fuck it annyway.

He’d go down to Bimbo’s for a bit, and watch the – Hang on though, no; there was someone coming down the stairs. He could hear it, and now he could make out the shape. It was Veronica. She must have been asleep, or studying. She was doing the Leaving as well in a couple of weeks, God love her. Fair play to her though. He was going to do the same himself next year.

Veronica opened the door.

—Wha’ kept yeh? said Jimmy Sr.

* * *

Jimmy Jr came around with four cans of Carlsberg, still lovely and cold from the off-licence fridge. Jimmy Sr put his nose to the hole in his can.

—I always think it smells like piss when yeh open it first, he said. —Not bad piss now, he explained.

—Yeah, Jimmy Jr agreed.

He got his jacket from behind the couch and took out two packets of Planter’s Nuts and threw one of them to Jimmy Sr.

—Open them an’ smell them, he said.

Jimmy Sr did.

—Well? said Jimmy Jr.

—They smell like shite, said Jimmy Sr.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Jr. —Fuckin’ gas, isn’t it? An’ they still taste lovely.

Jimmy Sr took a swig and trapped the beer in his mouth and only let it down slowly. That way he didn’t belch. The remote control needed a battery so Jimmy Sr couldn’t turn up the sound without getting up, and he couldn’t be bothered. He’d turned it down when young Jimmy had come, to ask how he was and that, and how Aoife was. There’d been one more goal since then; Ian Rush had scored it. He didn’t need George Hamilton or Johnny Giles to tell him who’d scored it cos he’d seen it himself. He was sick of those two. Giles was always fuckin’ whinging.

—They’re a machine, said Jimmy Sr. —Aren’t they?

—What’s tha’?

—Liverpool, said Jimmy Sr. —They’re like a machine. Brilliant.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Jr.

He didn’t follow football much.

—A well-oiled machine, said Jimmy Sr. —There’s nothin’ like them.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Jr. —I’m gettin’ married.

—They always do the simple thing, said Jimmy Sr. —It’s obvious but no one else fuckin’ does it.

—I’m gettin’ married, said Jimmy Jr.

—I heard yeh, said Jimmy Sr.

—And?

—And is she pregnant?

—No, she fuckin’ isn’t!

—That’s grand so, said Jimmy Sr.

He held out his hand to Jimmy Jr.

—Put it there.

He’d have killed him if he’d put her up the pole; she was too nice a young one to have that sort of thing happen to her, far too nice.

They shook hands.

—Did you tell your mother yet?

—No. No, I wanted to tell you first. There’s another goal, look it.

—Barnes, said Jimmy Sr. —Brilliant. Pity he hasn’t an Irish granny. ——Why?

—Why, wha’?

—Don’t start, said Jimmy Sr. —Why did yeh want to tell me first?

Jimmy Jr was concentrating on the telly.

—I just did, he said. —Eh, I’ll go in an’ tell Ma.

—She’ll be delighted.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Jr.

He got up and went out.

Liverpool had scored again but Jimmy Sr only noticed it
when the replay came on and even then he didn’t really pay attention to it. He didn’t know who’d scored it.

* * *

—What’re her parents like? Sharon asked Jimmy Jr.

—Good question, said Jimmy Sr. —Look carefully at her mother cos that’s wha’ she’ll end up lookin’ like.

—Will you listen to him, said Veronica.

They were all having the dinner, Darren and the twins as well. It was very nice. Not the food – it was nice as well, mind you; lovely – the atmosphere.

Young Jimmy had brought a bottle of wine. He poured a glass for the twins as well, just a small one, and Veronica didn’t kick up at all. Jimmy Sr looked at her. She couldn’t keep her eyes off young Jimmy.

—They’re alrigh’, said Jimmy Jr.

He put down his knife and fork, making noise on purpose.

—No, they’re not, now that I think of it, he said.

They cheered.

—He’s a bollix—, said Jimmy Jr.

—Stop that, said Veronica.

—Sorry, ma, said Jimmy Jr. —He is though.

They laughed. Veronica as well.

—An’ she’s—, said Jimmy Jr. —I think she’s ou’ of her tree half the time.

—Go ’way, said Jimmy Sr. —Is tha’ righ’? Drink?

—No, said Jimmy Jr. —I don’t think so.

—Tippex, said Darren.

—Stop that, said Veronica.

—She looks doped, said Jimmy Jr. —When yeh go into the house she smiles at you abou’ ten seconds after she’s been lookin’ at you, yeh know. It’d freak you ou’.

—Maybe she’s just thick, said Jimmy Sr.

—You’ll be meetin’ her soon annyway, said Jimmy Jr, —so you’ll be able to judge for yourself.

—That’s righ’, said Jimmy Sr. —Is she good lookin’?

—Who? Her ma?

—O’ course! said Jimmy Sr. —Who d’yeh think I meant? Her da?

They laughed.

—I couldn’t give a shite wha’ her da looks like, said Jimmy Sr.

—Excuse me, said Veronica. —You’d better not give a shite what her ma looks like either.

—Yeow, Ma!

They roared. Veronica was pleased.

Jimmy Sr really did want to know what Aoife’s ma looked like. He didn’t know why; he just did – badly.

—Well? he said.

He put some more salt on his spuds. They were good spuds, balls of flour.

—Is she?

—Yeah, said Jimmy Jr. —I s’pose she – No, not really —

—Ah Jaysis —

—It’s hard to say. She an oul’ one. She was probably nice lookin’ once alrigh’. Years ago but.

—Can she not be good looking if she isn’t young? Veronica asked Jimmy Jr.

—Eh —

—’Course she can, said Jimmy Sr.

—Yeah, Jimmy Jr agreed. —But she —

—Be careful wha’ yeh say, son, Jimmy Sr warned him.

—Some old women are lovely lookin’, said Sharon.

—That’s true, said Jimmy Sr. —A few o’ them.

He glanced over at Veronica.

—What abou’ you? said Darren to his da. —Look at the state o’ you.

Jimmy Sr looked at Darren. Darren was looking back at him, waiting for a reaction. Jimmy Sr wasn’t going to take that from him, not for another couple of years.

He pointed his fork at Darren.

—Don’t you forget who paid for tha’ dinner in front of you, son, righ’.

—I know who paid for it, said Darren. —The state.

Jimmy Sr looked like he’d been told that someone had died.

—Yeh prick, Jimmy Jr said to Darren.

But no one said anything else. Linda and Tracy didn’t look at each other.

Jimmy Sr took a sip from his wine.

——Very nice, he said.

Then he got up.

—Em ——the jacks, he said.

He had to sit down again and shift his chair back to get up properly.

—Back in a minute, he said.

—Yeh fuckin’ big-headed little prick, yeh, Jimmy Jr called Darren when they heard Jimmy Sr on the stairs, going up.

—Stop that! said Veronica.

—Wha’ did yeh go an’ say tha’ for? Sharon asked Darren, and wanting to slap the face off him.

—Stop, said Veronica.

—I was only jokin’, said Darren.

It was true; mostly.

Jimmy Jr grabbed Darren’s sleeve.

—Stop!!

Veronica looked around at them all.

—Stop that, she said. —Now, eat your dinners.

They did. Sharon kicked Darren under the table but didn’t really get him.

Then Linda spoke.

—Are they rich, Jimmy?

—Who?

—Her ma an’ da, said Linda.

—Yeah, said Jimmy Jr. —They are, kind of. ——Yeah. ——I suppose they are.

They were all listening for noise from upstairs.

—What did you do in school yesterday? Veronica asked Tracy.

Tracy was stunned.

—Eh —

—Nothin’, said Linda.

—The usual.

—Tell us about it, said Veronica.

—Ah, get lost —

—Go on.

—Yeah, said Sharon. —Tell us.

—Well ——, said Linda.

She knew what was going on, sort of. They weren’t to be waiting for her daddy to come down.

—Well, she said. —We had Mr Enright first class.

—Lipstick Enright, said Darren.

—Shut up, you, said Jimmy Jr.

—Linda fancies him, Tracy told them.

—I do not you, righ’!

Veronica started laughing.

—I used to —, said Linda. —I’m goin’ to kill you, Tracy, righ’.

Jimmy Sr was coming down; they heard the stairs.

—Why did yeh stop? Sharon asked Linda. —Fancyin’ him.

Linda teased them.

—I just did, she said.

—She —, Tracy started.

—Shut up, Tracy, said Linda, —righ’. I’m tellin’ it.

—Tellin’ wha’? said Jimmy Sr.

He’d combed his hair.

—Why she doesn’t fancy Mr Enright annymore, Sharon told him.

—Oh good Jaysis, he said.

They all laughed, hard.

* * *

He washed his face, put his hands under the cold tap and rubbed water all over his face and put them under again and held them over his eyes. God, he felt much better now. He was looking forward to going home. He had to wipe his face in his jumper because there was no towel. It was like when you ate ice-cream too fast and you had a terrible fuckin’ headache, a real splitter, and it got worse and worse and you had to close
your eyes to beat it – and then it was gone and you were grand, not a bother on you. For a while after the dinner, he’d had to really stretch his face to stop himself from crying. And that passed and he’d thought he was going to faint – not faint exactly —— He kept having to lift himself up, and sit up straight and open his eyes full; he couldn’t help it. He didn’t blame Darren; it was a phase young fellas went through, hating their fathers. He wouldn’t have minded smacking him across the head though.

He was grand now, wide awake. The pint had helped, nice and cold, and the taste had given him something to think about. He was grand.

—Come here, you, he said to Bimbo when he got back from the jacks. —The only reason you beat me today was because I let yeh take your first shot again at the seventh.

—Oh, said Bertie. —The tricky seventh; si.

—I beat yeh by two shots, said Bimbo.

—So?

—So I’d still’ve beaten yeh.

—Not at all, said Jimmy Sr. —Yeh went one up at the seventh. D’yeh admit tha’?

—Say nothin’, compadre, said Bertie.

—Yeah, Bimbo said to Jimmy Sr.

He was dying to know what Jimmy Sr was going to say next.

—Yeh went up after I let yeh take your shot again. Yeah?

—Yeah.

—Well, that had a bad psychological effect on me. I shouldn’t’ve let yeh. I’d’ve hockied yeh if I’d won tha’ hole like I should’ve. ——Like I really did when yeh think about it.

—Nick fuckin’ Faldo, said Paddy.

—That’s not fair now, said Bimbo.

He sat up straight.

—That’s not fair, Jim, he said. —I beat yeh fair an’ square.

—No, Bimbo, sorry; not really.

Bimbo was annoyed.

—Righ’, he said. —Fair enough. ——I wasn’t goin’ to mention it but ——

—Wha’?

Jimmy Sr was worried now, but he didn’t show it.

—Wha’? he said again. —Go on.

—I seen yeh kickin’ the ball ou’ o’ the long grass on the ninth.

—Yeh cunt!

—I seen yeh, Bimbo insisted.

—Yeh poxbottle fuck yeh; yeh did not!

—I did, said Bimbo.

—Serious allegations, said Bertie after he’d stopped laughing.

—He’s makin’ it up, said Jimmy Sr. —Don’t listen to him.

Bimbo tapped his face with a finger, just under his left eye.

—He’s makin’ it up, said Jimmy Sr. —It’s pat’etic really. He’s just a bad loser.

—I won, sure! said Bimbo.

—Not really, yeh didn’t, said Jimmy Sr.

—You’re the loser, excuse me, said Bimbo. —And a cheater.

—Yeh’d want to be careful abou’ wha’ you’re sayin’, Jimmy Sr told him.

He knew well they all believed Bimbo; he didn’t give a fuck. He was enjoying himself.

—I’m only sayin’ what I saw, said Bimbo. —Yeh looked around yeh an’ yeh gave the ball a kick, then yeh shouted Found it! And then yeh said, I was lucky, it’s landed nicely for me.

Bertie and Paddy were roaring.

—Fuck yeh, said Jimmy Sr. —Wha’ were yeh lookin’ at me for annyway?

—You’ll have to buy a round because o’ tha’, compadre, Bertie said to Jimmy Sr.

—Fair enough, said Jimmy Sr.

He had a tenner that Jimmy Jr’d given him.